


War Table

by OsirisApollo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artsy Porn, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Table Sex, implied exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo/pseuds/OsirisApollo
Summary: Dean and Castiel break in the map table in the Men of Letters war room.This was impossible to tag.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was seriously a challenge to write. It took me over a month. It only took me three days to write Holiday Inn.  
> 60+ dirty vocabulary words  
> Vague and explicit?  
> Kind of a social experiment...  
> Use your imagination.

There are jeans around ankles, again. The leather belt has spent more time rubbing against the floorboards than holding pants up, lately. The blue of jeans, the brown leather of the belt, and the darker brown of the work boots, the colors of desperation.

There is, of course, another set of ankles nearby. The skin surrounded by a dark pair of slacks. The leather belt is shiny and black. The dress shoes holding the slacks and belt from slipping off.

There are hands and mouths. The shirts forced open. The tongues exploring revealed skin. The sting of fingernails digging into flesh. The pleasure of teeth gently grazing more sensitive areas. The worshipful kissing of every exposed inch. The tender licking of pebbled flesh.

There is a table, too. The unfamiliar weight atop its surface causing noises of protest. The chairs kicked unceremoniously out of the way. The surface a resting place for the palest of skin. The glossy cover smudged with sweat.  

There are sounds as well. The groan of impatience, things not moving quickly enough. The moan, approval of something done right. The quicker, throatier noise of something done _really_ right. The whispers of encouragement. The tone of admiration. The words of praise.

There is an objection from the table with a shift in activity. The suggestive snick of a bottle cap snapping open. The gentle shushing of cries as fingers explore darker places. The sloppy, wet sounds of mouths meeting. The drowning of involuntary sounds with tongues.

There are hands gripping tight for support. The suction of a mouth staking claim. The bruising of unchecked strength, marking a bicep, a thigh, a hip. The hiss of pain to compliment the pleasure. The arching of a back.

There are the happy sounds of _finally_ getting what is asked. The almost surprise in a grunt, when a finger brushes a perfect place. The gentle whine in the back of a throat as more fingers join the first. The pleading of a desperate man.

There is a bottle turned over into a palm, soon lost to the same floorboards as the pants and belts. The gritting of teeth as the palm is applied to a red faced erection. The steadying motion of an inhale. The sweet prayer of a name.

Then, there is the changing of position. The press of a muscled chest to an equally muscled back. The quiet strength of a guiding hand. The rush of breath across the tabletop. The bracing of hands into the glass. The bracing of hand on hip. The silent encouragement of spreading thighs. The wanton moan of surrender. The arousing demand of attention.

There is the gentle pressure of intimacy. The moan of fulfillment. The hiss of restraint. The stroke of hands over heated flesh. The taut effort to hold back. The needy moan of a beloved’s name. The warm thrill of shameless begging.

There is a slow pull, just to become a push again. And then again. The moisture of breath that collects on the glass. The moan that is quieted by the soft flesh between shoulder blades. The skin flushed with excitement. The indulgently slow push is a pull again. The light thrust of a beginning.

There is a change in tempo. The rhythm is steady. The breaths into the table are accompanied by moans. The hands try to move, sliding through the moisture there. The near vulgar exclamation when balance is lost.

There is a new angle. The moans amplified by the surface they are forced into. The effort to hold them in lost. The hands scramble for purchase again, unsuccessfully. The steady repeated impale remains unchanging.

There is the tightening of a grip. The unconscious need to be closer. The bending at the waist to achieve it. The press of lips to the closest skin. The harsh panting between swollen lips. The broken cries of pleasure.

There is an increase in volume. The intimate joining changed from the re-positioning. The enjoyment increasing. The pace quickening. The body writhing atop the table.

Then, there is a hand to muffle the sounds. The gentle plea for quiet. The tender reminder of why. The warming of skin as a blush forms. The air is filled with the sounds of flesh. The repeated slap of skin on skin. The lustful groan of a new dynamic.

There is a tipping point. The hand relocates around a hip. The sounds find the fold of an elbow to replace it. The teeth grip the skin, refusing the voice.

There is an intimate tightening of a grip. The gentle pressure a relief. The wild pounding of the edge. The dirty grinding of reckless submission. The soft whimpering of want. The fight to hold on. The obscene loosing of fluid to the floor. The hedonistic joy of release. The rigid unrelenting rush to completion. The growl of unfettered passion.

There is the cuddling as two forms kneel to the floor. The gentle nuzzling of damp hair. The breathless whisper of confession. The voices divulging statements of love. The sweet taste of affection on reddened lips.

There are men forcing themselves to stand again. The pants are replaced. The belts are re-fastened. The heavy atmosphere is cleared. The air is filled with lewd jokes and sighed retaliations. The evidence of debauchery removed. The lascivious wink of a secret well kept.

**Author's Note:**

> So the social experiment part...  
> Who was on top?  
> I tried to write the whole thing without giving any indication of who I was picturing on top, but let me know if I failed...  
> You should be able to read it as either one on top.


End file.
